


Floriography

by echoinautumn (maybetwice)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Feel-good, Flowers, Fluff, Language of Flowers, Rule 63, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/pseuds/echoinautumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are flowers to say anything that ever needs to be said. Polina’s family owns the best nursery and floral shop in San Francisco, and Hikaru has a lot that needs to be said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floriography

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/7137.html?thread=6329569#t6329569) on [](http://st-xi-kink-meme.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://st-xi-kink-meme.livejournal.com/)**st_xi_kink_meme** , because I couldn’t resist and the anon prompter gave me the answer to a question re: gender bent characters and alternate universes I’d been pondering rather seriously. This was a lot of fun to write, even though… it was maybe supposed to be a quarter of the size it turned out to be. I kept getting held up in the process of writing to look up flower meanings, obsess over each flower combination, every reference to a flower in this story, _everything._ In any case, there’s a small guide at the end for the meanings I ended up choosing for everything.

*

_There are flowers for everything_ , her mama told her once while tucking a wild violet behind Polina’s ear. There were long afternoons in the garden while her papa worked the store when it was still growing, still small and delicate as the flowers Polina helped her mother gather, where Marta showed her flowers, told her what they meant, and whispered their meanings into her ear like a secret.

Twelve years after Marta Chekova died with a smile on her face Polina still remembers the secrets her mother told her in their garden.

Some things change. The shop is still in the same place as it was when her mother was alive, mostly because Andrei is too nostalgic to give it up. The original garden is so much larger than it was before, with the addition of greenhouses and a small army of caretakers that still feel like family. Everything is computerized now, rather than the yellowed paper slips Andrei carefully recorded every order onto, and they have a trio of giggling florists who do the arranging because there is more business than Marta could have done on her own. Andrei opens the store at nine AM sharp every morning, eleven on Sundays, and closes at seven, except on Valentine’s Day, when he stays open until nine.

Polina works wherever she’s needed, spending more time tending the garden and greenhouses alongside the rest of their workers than anywhere else. More often than not, she feels like she’s in the way, even though the florists lure her into the store for very sweet tea and the latest gossip, the gardening boys have been ogling at her legs since she turned sixteen four years before, and her papa never fails to give her a tight hug whenever he finds her on the premises. She has class in the mornings at UC Berkeley and her shifts in the afternoons and all through the weekend. It’s been this way for years, ever since a fortuitous article in the Chronicle highlighted them and claimed they were the only place worth going to for flowers in San Francisco.

Some things stay the same. Other things change.

She’s standing on a step-ladder hanging a morning glory plant just before closing when she first meets him, stretching on her toes and shrieking when his voice carries from just beneath her, a quiet, “ _Excuse me._ ”

“Whoa,” the voice gasps and holds out a hand to steady her when she sways precariously and peers down at him. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I just—there was no one in the flower shop, so I came out here.”

Polina shakes her head and relinquishes her tight grip on the crossbar of the ladder as soon as her feet are firmly planted back on the ground and she can get a good look at the man who interrupted her reverie. He’s taller than she is, handsome with his black hair glinting in the fading sunlight. The ivy plant drapes down and tickles her back, but she swats it away and offers him the brightest smile she can with adrenaline still pulsing through her veins.

“What can I do for you?”

He bites his lip and looks so awkward that Polina actually feels sorry for him before he’s even opened his mouth to give her any idea what she’s to do.

“It’s, well. My girlfriend’s birthday,” he explains, lowering his voice and pushing his hair back with a hand. Polina catches herself staring and realizes that she’s missed his last few sentences.

“—and, yeah. That was a week ago,” he finishes lamely and she beckons him into the shop, wiping soil onto her jeans and cringing when she realizes her hair is tangled up, her cheeks are smudged, and her front is soaked from a mishap with a water hose an hour before.

“So you want to apologize?” she asks and looks over her shoulder to make sure he’s following, trying not to feel too disappointed that this guy has a girlfriend. Of course he does, she reminds herself when she steps behind register and leans on the counter. There would be something fundamentally wrong with the world if he didn’t.

“Something—yes. Anything you can recommend?” he offers with a weak smile and Polina’s glad that she’s behind the counter, because that smile could topple empires as far as she’s concerned. Before she can recommend anything, he waves toward a small bouquet of orange lilies at the end of the counter. “She likes lilies.”

Polina shakes her head vigorously and bites back a laugh. “No, no, that—those would be a terrible idea,” she insists and waves him away from the bouquet before he can make up his mind. “Orange lilies symbolize hatred.”

“Not what I’m going for,” he laughs and nods, standing back with a hand in his pocket. “You know—do whatever you want. I kind of… I’m a botanist, but I never got into the symbolism, so you might be better qualified for this.”

She’s barely listening now, carefully selecting flowers for him (starting with white lilies and then purple hyacinth), and by the time he finishes explaining that he’s a doctoral student, she’s bundling them up for him and holding them out for him to examine.

“Oh,” he breathes and looks up at her, as if he didn’t realize she’d moved at all, and she smiles. “That’s beautiful.”

“And no subtle declarations of hate,” she tells him cheerfully when he hands over his bank card.

When he leaves, still stealing surreptitious glances at the tenderly bundled flowers in his hand, Polina smiles after him, turns around, and promptly trips over a bucket of purple lilac. It’s only when her papa walks in and asks her what it was in her day that’s made her smile so much that she realizes that she never even got his name.

*

Over the years, the flower shop and nursery have attracted their own, respective clientele. Everyone comes to the flower shop for flowers. The most devoted gardeners come to the nursery and spend long hours debating the merits of various fertilizers and landscaping techniques with her papa. Either way, the store has its regular customers, people who swear by the kind of magic that they swear Polina and Andrei infuse into their plants.

She’s in the flower shop the second time he comes in, drinking the alarmingly sweet cinnamon tea Gaila makes because it reminds her of home.

Gaila starts to get up, but Polina waves her back down, since it’s _her_ lunch break, before she even steps into the front of the shop.

“You’re the girl that helped me before,” he says in greeting, but she’s sure there’s no offense behind it, because he smiles gratefully.

“Did you forget your girlfriend’s birthday again?” she teases, crossing her arms over her chest with an amiable smile.

“Worse,” he laughs. “What kind of flower do you give for killing your sister’s bird?”

Polina cringes. “Do you want to talk about it?” It’s easier to keep customers talking at times like these, when they need something quickly and she needs time to pull it together for them.

While he explains that she’d gone on vacation and left her family’s pet with him, an obnoxious, loud bird that dropped dead while his cat was hanging from the cage by its claws, Polina nods sympathetically, rolling her eyes a little when he isn’t looking. It’s charming that he’s concerned, that he loves his sister (he has three sisters, she discovers as she works), and that he wants to make it up to her, but she figures that no one could actually stay angry at him for very long with his disarming smile and well-intentioned outlook. When she finishes, she presents him with a bundle of white poppies and lavender, accented with some decorative grass for good measure.

“It looks mostly like wild flowers, but…”

“It’s perfect,” Hikaru tells her firmly, taking them from her and offering another heart-stopping smile.

This time when she hands over his receipt and before she can sneak a look at it for his name, he looks up at her and interrupts her.

“You don’t wear name tags here,” he observes and it takes her a second to realize what it is he means.

“It’s Polina. My papa is the one who…” she waves a hand to indicate the store and looks at him expectantly.

“Hikaru,” he grins and holds out a hand. “Hikaru Sulu.”

She shakes his hand firmly and waves when he leaves, leaning on the counter and not concealing her stare now that he can’t see her. The door closes with a jangle from the bell on top and Polina is still contemplating the statistical likelihood that any man could have an ass as perfect when Gaila pokes her head in from the back.

“Who was that?” she asks, a manicured eyebrow raised in a knowing smirk, though Polina would bet money that she was listening the entire time and that the entire staff will know by closing.

“A customer,” she responds, because it’s not a lie and because she seems to need the reminder.

*

After that, Hikaru comes in almost regularly for something or another. Congratulatory flowers for the birth of his oldest sister’s twins merits a bouquet of day lilies and yellow and red roses accented with baby’s breath. The housewarming gift for his best friend and her new husband is a pretty azalea bush Polina helps him pick out. Even when he isn’t buying flowers for someone else, some occasion or, more often, a _missed_ occasion, Hikaru comes into the store for whatever fertilizer he needs for his greenhouse and spends a few minutes talking to Polina.

On Christmas Eve, he comes in five minutes to closing and stays, drinking the tea Polina brews for him before assembling a holly wreath for his parents’ Christmas party the following night.

“I can’t believe I forgot to do this until now,” he laughs and stares into his tea cup awkwardly. “I’ve just been so busy with my research, I kind of forget about the rest of the world.”

She clips an awkwardly-placed leaf out of the way and looks up at him with a grin. “Well, you are lucky I like you, or you would have never gotten this done.”

“I come in here often enough.” He blushes and drains the tea cup, which Polina picks up and sets behind the counter with one hand, while the other holds down the knot she’s in the middle of tying. “What are your plans for Christmas?”

She pulls out a length of ribbon from beneath the counter and flashes another smile while tying it into a perfect bow. “I was actually looking forward to ordering Chinese and spending the day in sweatpants.”

Hikaru grins. “I kind of envy you. It’s going to be crazy all day tomorrow.”

“Well,” she begins, tweaking her bow proudly and picking out a box for the wreath. “Now you will have a good luck charm.”

“Is that what it means?” he asks, peering at it one last time before she lowers the lid over the box and tapes it shut.

“Something like that,” she grins and pushes it toward him when he hands her a couple bills to pay for it. “A protection charm for your home.”

“That should help with my relatives,” he jokes and looks relieved when she laughs. “Merry Christmas, Polina.”

“Merry Christmas, Hikaru,” she tells him, helpless to prevent the warm bubble in her chest, even though she’s never celebrated the holiday.

He lingers a few seconds longer than necessary before picking up the box and leaving with a cheerful, “Good night,” called over his shoulder.

“Polina!” An excellent impression of her papa’s resounding voice catches her off guard, but when she turns around, it’s just Scotty, the groundskeeper who should have left an hour before.

“Sorry, Monty,” she laughs and flips the sign on the door. “We had a last minute customer. Aren’t you supposed to be spending Christmas with Gaila?”

“Yes,” he sighs, sliding back into his regular accent. “I was supposed to leave an hour ago, but the store wasn’t closed yet.” He gives her a knowing look and Polina blushes down to her toes.

“It won’t happen again,” she mumbles and locks the door firmly, tugging on it once to double-check.

Scotty turns out the lights to the greenhouses and Polina gathers up her purse, but when he turns and opens his mouth, she interrupts him.

“Please do not tell my father,” she blurts and if he’s at all surprised, he manages to hide it very well.

“Of course not,” he grins and shuts off the lights, locking the door behind them as they slip out the back. “As long as you tell me who the handsome man chatting you up for an hour was.”

Gossip, Polina realizes then, is a powerful blackmail tool, and knows that somehow, her father will find out about this through the grapevine anyway.

*

It rains on Valentine’s Day, and Polina’s late getting back to the shop from her classes in the morning. She slips in the back, kisses her papa on the cheek when he slides a rosebud behind her ear, and cringes when she hears Gaila’s irritated voice from outside.

“Bad day?” she asks, but her papa laughs and shoos her into the shop. When she steps in, she can make out Gaila’s words and looks up in interest to see Gaila looking harassed and Hikaru shifting his weight awkwardly.

“And I’m saying she’s not here yet. Just tell me what you need and I’ll be happy to get it for you.”

“Polina,” Hikaru gasps and looks so relieved to see her that Polina feels a little guilty for the bewildered look on Gaila’s face.

“Oh, thank _God_.” Gaila rolls her eyes and steps back behind the counter. “He’s been here ten minutes and wouldn’t let anyone but you help him.”

“I’ve got him, Gaila,” she assures her and takes a self-conscious step toward Hikaru, feeling awkward until he smiles at her as brightly as ever.

“I wasn’t trying to be obnoxious,” he defends himself weakly when Polina laughs.

“But you were. This is for your girlfriend again?” She tries not to be too disheartened when he nods because there’s no other reason he’d be in the shop on Valentine’s Day.

“I didn’t want to go the clichéd red rose route,” he explains when she leads him away from the crowded counter. “I wanted something that would tell her that I love her and I’m glad she’s so patient with me, and that I appreciate her more than some cheap tradition.”

Polina is actually very proud of the arrangement of orchids she puts together for him in a delicate vase. After he pays and takes it gingerly with both hands, he stops and gives her a fond smile.

“I spend all day with flowers, so they’re kind of special to me. I know…” He shrugs and shifts the weight of the arrangement from one arm to the other. “I know most people wouldn’t appreciate it like you do, so I don’t trust anyone else to do this for me.”

She tells herself for the rest of the day that it’s stupid, that people don’t fall in love with their customers, and she barely knows anything about this man, short of what he does for a career and the occasions in his life that he needs flowers to express his feelings for him. He’s got his girlfriend and his family and his friends, and if she’s any part of his life at all, it’s just as a girl in his favorite flower shop. That night, curled up under a throw on the couch, she watches old romantic movies, drinks from her papa’s store of vodka and eats the chocolate he gave her when they closed the store. When she tears up at the end of _My Fair Lady_ , she tells herself it’s just because she’s a sap, because she’s had a little too much vodka, and flips off the television.

She dreams of Hikaru that night and wakes up feeling a little hung over and very foolish.

*

A month and a half after Valentine’s, Hikaru sets a bundle of dead flowers on the counter and Polina stares at them for a few long seconds before she realizes that they’re not something he’s purchased from the store.

“I have a question for you,” he begins and she sees that he has dark circles under his eyes and his hair is disheveled.

“Go ahead,” she prompts hesitantly, certain that a bouquet of dead flowers on her counter can’t be good karma for the rest of the shop.

“My girlfriend told me that if I was so interested in flower meanings, I would be able to know what this meant.” He nods miserably to the dead flowers and Polina feels her heart sink for him, even though she’s pretty much lived for seeing him come into the store for the last few months, probably since before Christmas. She’s hoped for this, but actually being a part of the process deadens her jubilance.

“And so you wanted me to tell you what it meant?” she asks, and he nods.

Swallowing, she picks up the bouquet hesitantly. The meaning is clear enough, but the little nuances, the yarrow, the yellow carnations, and the hydrangea, those given enough definition to the meaning. She sets it down and looks up at him, her mouth pressed in a firm, unhappy line.

“Well?”

She hesitates, trying to find words to soften the blow, but unsticks her jaw and avoids his eyes.

“It means you don’t have a girlfriend anymore,” she tells him flatly and starts planning what will go into his reconciliation bouquet.

*

Hikaru comes in a little less often now that he doesn’t have a girlfriend to buy flowers for. Polina tries not to take it personally, not to let it bother her because it shouldn’t matter, but she’s at least accepted that she’s smitten, no matter how foolish it is. People have had unhealthy crushes before, and though she spends a lot of time hoping to catch Hikaru when he comes into the store, it isn’t otherwise affecting her life too much. It’s a crush, and one that will pass in time.

He comes in sometime in late April with an aura of distraction, tells her that he wants to buy flowers for his mother on what would have been her wedding anniversary with his father. Polina doesn’t pry, nor ask why he seems so distant, staring more at the floor and the ceiling than at the flowers she’s choosing for him (a simple arrangement of roses in varying shades of pink).

They have a system now, but Polina is sure they’ve never gone through the ritual so quickly, lacking in the kind of conversation that makes Hikaru’s visits so special. He seems removed, a hundred miles away, until he takes the flowers and looks up at her, almost as if it’s surprised him that he’s here, that it’s her helping him.

“I’m sorry, Polina,” he laughs and rubs his eyes. “I’m defending my dissertation tomorrow and I feel like I haven’t slept in a week.”

She gives him a sympathetic smile and reaches into a small bucket for a sprig of jasmine, which she slips into the breast pocket of his jacket.

“Is that another charm?” he teases, but looks down at it with a faint smile.

“Good luck,” she explains and tilts her head to the side and looks at him fondly. It doesn’t seem to matter that most of the time when she sees Hikaru, she’s covered in greenery, specked with dirt, and wearing a bandanna to keep her hair out of the way. If he’s not interested, and he probably isn’t, then it’s likely her own fault for not trying hard enough to catch his eye with something other than flowers.

“Thanks,” he tells her after a pause, but his eyes are more relaxed now. Polina’s heart thumps painfully in her chest and she blushes down at the counter.

“Let me know if I should send flowers for congratulations or conciliations tomorrow, all right?” she prompts, not expecting anything from him, but he laughs and agrees and is gone, just like always.

*

The next day, Polina tries not to think about Hikaru all day. All through her classes, even when Andrei sends her to the ribbon store instead of to her regular shift. _Especially_ then, because she thinks (beyond reason, she knows on some intellectual level) that she might miss it if Hikaru tries to tell her how it went.

Just when she thinks she’s gotten it out of her head and she’s on her way back to the store, a shout from behind her grabs her attention.

“You dropped your ribbon!”

She turns around and finds herself face to face with a blond man holding her purple ribbon out with an easy grin.

“Oh,” she mumbles and drops it back into her bag. “Thank you.”

He looks over her for a moment, obviously appraising her appearance when another man comes up behind him.

“Are you harassing her, Jim?” he groans, pinching his nose and reaching out for the blond man’s arm. “Sorry about him, he’s—”

“Bones,” Jim interrupts and Polina considers taking a step back, leaving them to their bickering now that she’s recovered the ribbon. “It’s—hey, you’re Hikaru’s flower girl, aren’t you?”

She blushes so darkly that she’s sure it must count as an answer, but Jim is gesturing to her apron, the one embroidered with the name of the flower shop across the front. _Hikaru’s_ flower girl, like he doesn’t have any others, like they know who she is.

Like Hikaru’s mentioned her before.

“How did his defense go today?” she asks, keeping her voice even and polite. Quickly, she finds that it’s hard to stay calm when Jim is grinning at her like that.

“It went well,” he tells her with a beaming grin. “I’ll let him know you said hi, all right?”

The other man—Bones—rolls his eyes spectacularly and tugs on Jim’s arm again. “Sorry about him. We’ll tell Hikaru we saw you.”

Polina just nods meekly and stands in the middle of the sidewalk completely dumbstruck until “Bones” and Jim are down the hill again and out of sight. Then she turns around and goes home, her heart beating madly with hope.

*

It’s not until late Sunday afternoon that Hikaru comes in while she’s tending the shop by herself due to some unforeseen errand her papa leaves on. She’s spent the last few days thinking endlessly about the possible revelations that could be had from her encounter with Jim. On one hand, it could mean nothing at all, just that Hikaru has mentioned her in passing as someone who helps him with his flower selections. Alternatively, he could have said more than that, and it’s her impatient anticipation, waiting for him to come in again, that’s killing her.

She has her back to the door while sweeping the floors when the bell chimes. She’s barely turned around to look who it is when she hears the lock on the door and she swings around to see Hikaru leaning against the closed door.

“I didn’t mean to scare you again,” he tells her and this time she knows that the smile he’s giving her is real, that there’s something more to all this than flowers and a stupid crush.

“I should really keep the door unlocked, just in case—”

Hikaru laughs and pushes off from the door. “Jim’s got it and I asked your dad first. I’ve got fifteen minutes and… well, can you spare that long?”

“Of course,” she mumbles and stares at her feet, thinking horribly uncharitable things about her papa for keeping this a secret from her, for being Hikaru’s co-conspirator.

“I need help picking out flowers again,” he explains and Polina isn’t stupid, she knows exactly where this is going.

“Well,” she starts, trying to sound normal, to play her part through her embarrassment. “Whose birthday did you forget this time?”

“I want flowers for this girl I’ve wanted to ask on a date. The problem is that she knows all of my dirty secrets, like that I sometimes forget birthdays and other things, but she’s been understanding and helpful and a great listener.”

Polina stares straight at him so directly that she barely notices that he’s taking a few more hesitant steps toward her, just that her feet are rooted to the floor and she’s still holding the stupid broom in her hands.

“She’s got great legs and a gorgeous smile,” he continues and she’s pretty sure her face is the same color as the arrangement of red tulips on display behind her. “And I think she actually has no idea that I’ve kind of been obsessing about her for months.” There’s a moment of hesitation and Hikaru laughs.

“Is that creepy?”

She doesn’t even have the words to tell him that it is, but in the same way that all romantic gestures kind of are, or that she’s been doing the same to him.

“That’s a lot to say,” she says instead, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Does that mean you can’t do it?” he asks and she’s sure that he’s teasing her now, because he doesn’t give her the chance to finish, to say that she’ll need more than fifteen minutes to do that. “That’s okay. I brought some just in case.”

He draws his hand out from behind his back and holds out a small bundle of flowers, wild violets and dandelions, _weeds_ at best, but Polina can’t help but be completely charmed by the gesture, so reminiscent of her mama’s tastes.

“I’m sorry I’m still not very good at the symbolism,” he apologizes in the few seconds before she throws her arms around his neck, bandanna and jeans and apron and all.

“They’re perfect,” she tells him firmly. So they aren’t hibiscus or red roses or the kind of orchids she picked out for him before, but somehow they’re even more precious because Hikaru picked them himself, thinking of her, wondering how to do this for her.

“Is that a yes?” he asks hesitantly, and she gives him a single, enthusiastic nod.

“That’s—oh,” she stops short when he rests a hand on the small of her back and touches their lips together, a hesitant brush that she builds on immediately, dropping the broom beside her and pushing a hand into his hair.

Her last thought before she melts away entirely, before Jim interrupts with a rude tapping on the glass of the door, is that her real life is better than any movie.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Notes on Floriography:** I know that the meanings of flowers are a bit varied based on experience, source, etc (and always were, apparently), but these were both the most fitting for what I needed (and the aesthetic appeal of using these flowers together), and the best descriptions I could find. I had four different sources open all through writing this and referred to each of them to at different points for… well, every flower mentioned in the story. Here they are:
> 
> Violet (blue): faithfulness  
>  Morning Glory: love in vain  
>  Orange Lily: hatred  
>  White Lily: purity  
>  Purple Hyacinth: “I’m sorry”  
>  Purple Lilac: first emotions of love  
>  White Poppy: consolation  
>  Lavender: devotion  
>  Grass: submission  
>  Day Lily: motherhood  
>  Yellow & Red Roses: celebration  
>  Azalea: abundance, fragile passion  
>  Holly: domestic happiness, protection  
>  Rosebud: youth, beauty, a heart innocent of love  
>  Red Rose: true love  
>  Orchid: beauty, love, femininity, refinement  
>  Bouquet of withered flowers: rejected love  
>  Hydrangea: frigidity  
>  Yarrow: condolences for a broken heart, falsehoods  
>  Yellow Carnation: rejection, disdain  
>  Pink Rose: grace  
>  Dark Pink Rose: gratitude  
>  Jasmine (Stephanotis): good luck  
>  Red Tulip: declaration of love  
>  Dandelion: faithfulness, happiness  
>  Hibiscus: rare beauty


End file.
